This is your official invitation to join the fun

Changing her clothes out for a fresher, non-blood soaked set, she pulled on her mother’s leather trenchcoat—it made her feel more like a badass. Taking out the journal, she turned to the page about healing. If that pain happened every time, if she was going to pass out again—assuming something worse didn’t happen, she’d risk her best chance at a lead. Packing it away in her duffel, she took out the Glock and her hunting knife, hiding them under her coat and wrapping her hair up with Evelyn’s hair spikes to complete her Hunter image.

The building itself seemed like a normal enough bar with cars and motorcycles set out front. Neon signs invited travelers in and light leaked through the slits of the blinds. She took her time walking to the door. Despite the noise and rabble inside, she had the distinct impression everyone inside was very much aware of her presence. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and crossed the threshold.

No one looked at her but she saw at least ten different hands shift to hover over weapons. Sonya relaxed her arms, trying to keep her own fingers as naturally far away from her gun and knife as possible. Instigating a shootout wasn’t exactly on her list of priorities.

Plopping down on a barstool, she ordered a beer and took another look around the place. She caught a few glances in her direction but no one approached her or even acknowledged her except the bartender.

When he set down her mug of beer, she said, “I’m looking for a job. Know any?”  

He shook his head, his black hair shifting down into his eyes as he gestured for money.

Sonya paid him and swiveled around on the stool, beer in one hand. “Does anyone here know about a job for someone passing through?” She asked loud enough that even the two men in the corner playing pool would hear.

The noise in the room softened to a murmur as the people around the tables exchanged glances. She counted over two dozen, mostly men like at Jaeger’s place.

“Do you want to mess that one up too?” A man rose to his feet. He had a scruffy face and wore a dark leather jacket. One of the Hunters from the campsite. The other men around the table nodded over their beer bottles. So she hadn’t been that discrete after all.

“I only expected there to be one werewolf,” Sonya defended herself. “It got a little out of hand, but no one was hurt.”

“Until those beasts bite someone else.”

“I didn’t see you chasing after them.”

His cheeks flushed and his tall stance faltered as some of the hostile looks in the room shifted to him.

Sonya set down her beer. “I don’t need anything fancy. Just something to tide me over until things pick up again around Christmas.”

“How good are you?” It was a woman who asked. She leaned against the wall near the dartboard. Her hair was shaved off on either side of her head and the strip down the center fell down her back in an elaborate braid.

“Good enough.”

The two men playing pool walked over to the woman, leaning in close as they talked. The rest of the room had gone still, impatient to find out what they were discussing.

“Come here,” the woman ordered Sonya at last.

Sonya slid off her seat unbuttoning the strap around her knife in the process. She strolled over, hands in her pockets, forcing a mellow and calm air. “You rang?”

“The three of us were mounting a team to take down a vampire coven. Interested?”

“Just like that?” Sonya asked.

“You have to hit the target,” one of the men said. He had a square jaw and black hair with a scar that went from the corner of his left eye to his ear. Sonya shrugged, reaching for some of the darts on the counter.

“Not with those,” he said. He smirked as he pulled out a throwing knife. “You have to hit the bullseye with this. If you manage it, you’ll get an equal share of anything we take down as a group.”

The three tried to hide it but she could see they intended to use her for bait. As long as they gave her a fair portion, she didn’t care.

Sonya took the weapon and had to bite down on her lower lip to keep from smiling. It was the exact same throwing knife Evelyn had made her practice with. She cleared her throat and put on a somber expression as though they’d just asked her to a run a mile naked in the snow.

“How do I know you’ll keep your promise?” she asked.

The second man, who was tall with cropped brown hair and blue eyes, gestured to the rest of the room. “You all heard that right? She hits the target, she gets to join.”

Soft snickering burned Sonya’s ears as she measured out the distance between her and the dartboard, moving into the right position. She imagined Evelyn over her shoulder, correcting her posture and threatening her with extra chores if she failed.

Drawing back her arm, she aimed, and threw.

The knife gave a satisfying thunk when it embedded into the small center dot.

She heard someone mutter, “I’ll be damned.” and grinned. Evelyn would never believe her.

Sonya retrieved the knife, admiring her handiwork before she turned to the three, each wearing a different degree of shock on their face. “When do we start?”

The other three—Deric, Aiden, and Jane—followed a pace or two behind. A muffled scream ghosted through the hall and Sonya ran forward to a railing. It looked out over a sprawling concrete floor. Corroded chains hung in thick groupings from the ceiling. Dim light filtered in through the filthy windows—the sagging outlines of three bodies bound limply to the chains demanded her attention. They moved just enough to make their binds clink. They were still alive.

The old metal staircase whined under Sonya’s weight as tried to reach the ground level as quietly as possible. The chains shivered. One of the victims, a girl who looked no older than sixteen, looked at her straight on. She was gagged and as filthy as the windows. Her blond hair was matted and blood stained the girl’s shirt collar. Sonya stepped closer and the girls’ eyes widened as she began to struggle. Sonya pressed her finger to her lips and tucked her knife away. She didn’t dare speak aloud but the girl calmed before drooping at the knees. Complicated knots left ugly red marks on the girl’s wrists where the ropes tied her to the metal. Sonya approached at a hesitant pace.

“Forget about them,” Jane hissed behind her as she and the others caught up.

Sonya protested. The other two victims—a boy still young enough to be a child and a burly man in his mid-thirties—stirred, turning to look at them. They were similarly bound and gagged. The boy seemed unharmed but the man was pale, drained. Browning blood caked the front of his shirt. If he wasn’t helped right away, he would die. “We can’t just leave them here.”

“The hell we can’t.” Aiden grabbed her wrist when she went to free the man.

“You leave him where he is,” Jane warned, “or you’re cut out of the deal.”

The teenage girl whimpered, shaking her head in a panic. Sonya took another step towards the victims. “It would take two minutes to get them to safety. Are their lives not worth two minutes?”

They ignored her.

“Do this and I’ll make sure no Hunter will ever work with you again,” Jane threatened. She gestured for Aiden and Derik to press on. They moved like shadows, barely making any noise as they vanished into the darkness at the other end of the room.

“You shouldn’t keep them waiting,” Sonya told her. “They’ll need the backup.” She ignored Jane’s angry taunts. If none of them were willing to postpone their attack a couple minutes to save these people, she didn’t want to work with them anyway.

Jane disappeared with the others and Sonya took out her penlight, moving slow so she wouldn’t scare the victims. “I just need to check your eyes,” she explained. She clicked the light on, cupping her other hand around it to try and tame the brightness as she flashed on in their faces. Their pupils constricted to pinpricks. It meant they were human. A vampire’s eyes adjusted at a much slower rate.

Getting her knife out, she cut the girl down first. The boy came second and she could see tear streaks down his face. He latched onto her the moment his hands were free. She gently peeled him off, handing him to the other girl.

“Up the stairs,” Sonya whispered. “Take a right and go straight outside.”

“You can’t leave us, you can’t.” The teenager trembled, her eyes wild with fear. It reminded Sonya of how she’d looked after stabbing the Tracker. “Please,” she begged, almost crying. “You can’t leave us like this.”

Sonya put her hands on the teenager’s shoulder. “I’ll be right behind you.” She gestured with her head back to the older man, “He needs help. And I’m trusting you to get the boy to safety.” She put one of her hands on the boy’s hair, tousling it gently as he clung to the girl. “He needs you right now. I need you.”

She nodded rapidly, her arms wrapping around the small boy’s shoulders.

Sonya watched them for a moment to ensure their legs could actually support their weight. She turned back to the man. He observed her with dim, uncaring eyes. When she cut his bonds, his body crumpled. Sonya wedged herself beneath him to keep him from plummeting straight to the floor. They’d already made too much noise. Any more and they were asking to be caught. With his weight pressing down on her, she struggled to tuck her knife away without cutting either of them. The faint metallic creaking of the stairs told her the younger two were making their escape.

“You with me?”

He made a grunting sound and his right foot shifted forward. He breathed fast and hard even though his heartbeat was slow. His skin was sweaty and cool—she doubted he had much blood left to spare. But he was alive and moving and right now, he was her top priority.

Shouting came from behind her followed by several rounds of gunshot. The Hunters must’ve finally cornered their prey. She looked at the man next to her. A tarnished determination had taken hold of him. He staggered at the gunfire and she felt the pulse in his wrist quicken. A muffled sob came from the top of the staircase.

“Just keep moving,” Sonya said, letting her voice carry. There was no need to be quiet anymore. “We’re all going to be just fine.” Getting the half-conscious man up the stairs were the hardest twenty eight steps in her life. With the bulk of his weight resting on her, leveraging him up was something even Isaac would’ve been impressed by.

The younger two were almost out—their shadows stretched to Sonya’s feet.

“Am I crazy?” The man asked.

Sonya looked at him as his head lulled to the side. He looked like he was hanging from a rope.

“What do you mean?”

“Bitch bit me. Drank me.” His words slurred as though he were tipsy. “Thought I saw… but couldn’t be… not real.”

Sonya offered a weak smile. She had no prepared explanation and she doubted he’d believe the truth. “You were mugged,” she said. “This is all just a bad dream, like they say in the movies. Your mind is making this whole thing up.”

They were almost to the door.

“Shitty dream.”

She’d just gotten him across the threshold when screams came from inside. Her heart chilled at the sheer terror and panic in that sound before it strangled into silence—far too quiet for Hunters fresh off a successful kill. Sonya swallowed hard. She looked around and saw the other two hobbling their way to the end of the street.

“I can… on my own.” The man staggered after the other two but Sonya caught him around the middle.

“Not yet, twinkle toes.” She put the scream to the back of her mind, telling herself it was another victim the Hunters had merely scared. With most of the man’s weight on her, it took long enough to catch up to the other two that, by then, they’d already hailed a taxi. The cab driver went wide-eyed and seemed ready to stomp on his gas pedal when Sonya anchored herself in front of the car. She panted a bit, a drip of sweat running down from her forehead. “These people need a ride to the hospital.”

“There are ambulances for this sort of thing.” His engine revved but Sonya didn’t move.

“They don’t have much time. Please,” Sonya begged, “they need help.”

The driver continued to protest but the girl was already climbing into the backseat—the boy’s arms still around her waist. Sonya stayed like a barrier in front of the car as the man detached and wobbled into the front seat. Sonya reached into her pocket and took out what cash she had left.

“Take them to the hospital and it’s all yours.” She came around but only handed half over to him.

“Hey, you said—”

Sonya handed the rest to the shaking girl in the back. “She’ll give you the rest once they’re safe.”

She backed off a couple paces and the tires squealed in the driver’s urgency to leave. Even without the vampires, this wasn’t exactly the nicest looking neighborhood. She only took a moment to catch her breath before spinning around and taking off at a run. The building seemed even darker than before and she squinted her eyes against the black. Ears strained for any hint of life, she paused at the entryway. Maybe the Hunters were finished and had found another exit.

Yeah, and Isaac’s been nominated for sainthood.

Sonya took her knife out, gripping the handle too tightly as she crossed the threshold.

A drenched cloth pressed up against her mouth as an arm wrapped around her waist. She caught a whiff of sweetness and held her breath, recognizing the chloroform. Her elbow jerked back. A man grunted but didn’t let go. Feeling around the floor with her boot, she brought her heel down onto the attacker’s toes.

He swore. She reached for the Glock at her hip, wrenched it free and started firing off rounds. Ringing filled her ears from the intense sound with the heat of draining blood. He still didn’t let go.

Lungs screaming for air, she tried for another attack when he kicked the back of her right ankle, knocking her off balance. She landed on her back, cloth still pressed against her mouth. The air rushed from her lungs and she gasped automatically.

A gentle buzzing filled her head and the world began to spin. She tried to move but could feel herself being dragged along the ground and lifted up before the sounds faded and the world closed off.

Giving her head a good shake, she noticed the Persian rug beneath her feet, the chandelier-esque lighting, the wood flooring and ornately carved table. There was even an old grandfather clock ticking away in the corner. Antique, old, stale. The whole setup made her feel like she’d walked into an abandoned museum.

From her place in the dining room, she looked over to a closed swinging-style door. She could hear someone, mostly likely her captor, shuffling about. There was a clink of china and water being poured.

Not wanting to find out why she’d been taken, Sonya started shifting her chair backwards, searching for something sharp.

“I’m afraid that, in your current state, any attempt to escape would be pointless.”

The man was suddenly there, standing above her. He was tall, lean, and his blond hair was lightly curled. His hair, skin, eyes, even his clothes, were all drained of color like he was an old, worn out photograph. The English accent as he spoke was faint, like he’d been in the States long enough to adjust but stubbornly kept the accent out of spite.

He set down a tray that held two china cups and saucers as well as a steaming teapot. On the side, there was a strainer and a series of miniature covered pots. Pulling up a chair, he sat down across from her and looked her directly in the eyes.

When he said nothing, Sonya asked, “Want do you want?”

“Such a mundane inquiry. I had hoped for something better.”

Sonya ground her teeth together. She shifted in her chair, trying to determine what he’d taken. The gun and knife were both gone. Her flashlight too.

He turned back to the tray on the table. Picking up the strainer, he held it over one of the teacups and poured out a soft brown liquid, black tea leaves catching in the mesh. It had a flowery scent combined with a hint of black licorice. “How do you take your tea?”

“I…” Was he serious? “I don’t really drink tea.”

“Well, today you are.” He picked up one of the miniature pots and Sonya noticed a notched spout as he poured out a thick cream, lightening the color. He lifted the lid of another pot and, with silver prongs, took out a single sugar cube and let it dissolve in the liquid before stirring the concoction with a delicate silver spoon.

While he worked, Sonya tried to piece together what he’d done. Her arm was wrapped in fresh bandages and smelled like iodine. It made her nose itch. She tried rubbing it on her shoulder but it didn’t help.

The man—vampire—glanced up at her. “I apologize about the restraints. I hadn’t intended to use them but after you shot me, I thought it was a proper precaution. I wouldn’t want you ruining any more of my shirts.”

“You don’t look hurt.” He moved with an unnatural ease that ballerinas would sell their souls for. He put the spoon on the saucer and set the whole thing down on the table directly in front of her. Sonya stared at him in utter bewilderment as he poured himself a second cup of tea. The scene made her feel like Alice trapped by the Mad Hatter.

“Do you do this with all the people you’re about to drain?”

He finished pouring the tea into his cup, removed the strainer and looked up at her. “If I intended for you to be a meal, you would not be sitting here now.” He took up the third and final of the china dishes. Blood poured into his tea, turning it dark and red. Her stomach curled in at the mixture of the sweet and flowery tea with the iron of blood. Taking a sip, he let out a sigh and visibly relaxed into his chair. The more he drank, the more color crept into his face.

“Now,” he continued, “if you wish to be freed, all you need do is give me your word that you won’t run away or cut my head off.”

“My word?” Sonya almost laughed. “You’re going to trust my word just like that?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

He bent over and easily undid the knots by hand. She rubbed her wrists, attempting to appease the red marks forming on her skin.

“My name is Michael Harcourt.” He gave a slight bow that seemed to be more from habit than a sign of respect. “And you are?”

“Sonya.”

He looked at her expectantly but when she kept her lips pursed, he said, “It’s polite to give your full name, Miss Fletcher.”

Sonya stopped with her hand outstretched to her cup of tea. “You went through my things.”

“Yes.” He gestured behind her.

Now free to shift around, Sonya saw her bag from the car sitting on top of another ornate chair. How long had she been out? It was still dark outside, but through the course of their conversation, the black had turned to a deep grey. The grandfather clock showed it was just after four in the morning: she’d been out for around five hours.

“You touched my car?” She gripped her china cup a little too hard.

“I didn’t damage it.” He wouldn’t look at her when he said it and she imagined scraped paint and dents all along the sides.

Sonya’s eye twitched a bit and the cup cracked in her hand. She barely even registered the still hot liquid sploshing down her arm and onto her legs. The mental image of Michael as an old-time movie twirling a moustache as he drove her uncle’s car into the harbor wouldn’t back down. His expression was calm, almost bored. Instead of looking her in the face, he occupied his attention with retrieving the china fragments.

“I may have underestimated its size while pulling out.” He said, “It suffered a few minor scratches. Nothing of importance.”

She clenched her fists. It was just a car, she knew that, but it was Ethan’s parting gift to her; the one nice thing she owned. And this man had just gone and damaged it. Remember what he is, she told herself. Without anything to use against him and still light-headed from being drugged, a fight with him would be downright stupid.

“I… see,” she finally managed out between her clenched jaw. “That’s… fine.”

Michael handed her a towel and she pressed it against her pant leg to try and soak up as much of the liquid as she could. He went back to sipping his Earl Grey, expression overly innocent. Taking the third porcelain container, he poured out the rest of its contents until his cup was filled with more blood than tea. Sonya rolled her eyes, trying to put together where she was. The lack of traffic outside meant they were out of the city. If the rest of the house was anything like this room, then the property was expensive—very expensive. But it had to be within a five hour drive of the warehouse.

When she finally looked back at Michael, he was staring at her.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re very peculiar.”

“So I’ve been told.” Though ‘freak’ and ‘witch’ were the popular terms back home.

At last, he set his saucer down and dabbed the corners of his mouth with a white cloth. “Do you understand why I’ve brought you here?”

She shook her head. She had her suspicions he was going to try and make her into a pawn, but feigning ignorance was always the best way to get information.

“You’re here because,” he paused and shifted in the chair as though the following words were causing him physical pain, “because I require your assistance. I need you to kill someone for me.”

“A leech like you?” Annoyance twitched across his face. “Does your kind often kidnap Hunters to do your dirty work?”

He got to his feet in a sharp jerk and took the tray back to the kitchen. Sonya examined the room while he was gone. Her coat hung over the chair next to her bag and she pulled it into her lap. Though all of her weapons were gone, nothing else seemed missing. In fact, it seemed more organized than when she’d left it. Taking her mother’s coat, she tugged it back on and found the keys to her car in the pocket. Could she make it if she ran?

She hesitated before dropping the keys into the duffle with all the rest of her things. She wasn’t exactly succeeding at getting her own jobs. The risk of him turning on her wasn’t any higher than another Hunter wanting the entire bounty to themselves.

Michael cleared his throat behind her. She turned around to find him sitting at the head of the table, his fingers folded together and set perfectly in front of him again. Sonya swiveled her own chair around, sitting with the back in front of her. She needed the barrier.

“So,” Sonya said, “what do you propose, Mister Harlot?”

“Harcourt. And my proposition is simple: you will eliminate Claire Larrett, the head of my coven. I can assure you, her disappearance will be mutually beneficial.”

“First off,” Sonya started, “stop talking as though you’re from a Dickens novel.” He frowned, seeming genuinely confused. “And second, why don’t you just kill her off yourself? You were at the warehouse. Aren’t you leeches sort of out of it after you’ve had a… large meal.” Her stomach squeezed painfully as she remembered the three chained victims. “I mean, do you even have a plan of attack?”

“I have been dreaming up ways to kill Claire for over a hundred years. I have thousands of plans.”

“So why is she still breathing?”

He took a moment before admitting, “Bad timing, I suppose. Like tonight—Claire’s no fool. She often has at least two loyal members of the coven guarding her at all times. Tonight in particular, there was a small army behind her.”

A small army of vampires. Those other Hunters must’ve been torn apart. She would have been torn apart. Frustration seethed under her skin. She didn’t want to owe her life to a vampire. “How do I know you won’t double cross me when it’s over?”

“You don’t. But I have no assurances about you either.”

Sonya bit her lip, her hand easing towards her bag. The leather book was still inside. If she could heal a sprained ankle with a few words, the other passages might work as well. Ones about protection, about fighting. It would be worth the risk to take another crack at the incantations if it meant ensuring her survival. If this was some personal vendetta or him wiping out competition, as long as she got to take a vampire back with her, the reasons didn’t matter.

“I’ll do it.”